…and Then There Was One
Spring will come. Beltane. Easter. May Day. Wherever you are, whatever your beliefs, spring is a time of renewal and returning growth. Rain. Grass greening. Leaves uncurling. Flowers budding. More rain.
Throughout my life, spring was always marked by pussy willow catkins emerging from the long nap of winter to show their furry gray faces. In later years, spring was marked by vast quantities of mud. But surprisingly, crocuses and daffodils always rise from the dark soil, even through the last snow. So what’s not to love about spring?
Spring is traditionally marked by eggs of all colors and designs, whether hard or hollowed, and fertile eggs that release fluffy yellow chicks. Even though my family always dyed eggs in jewel tones and decorated them with filigree, I rarely gave a second thought to the chickens who laid them in the first place. Eggs were as enigmatic as the Easter bunny — although easier to find.
Two springs past, at our local farm store, my husband and I found fuzzy new chicks everywhere! They tumbled over one another in heated silver tanks and filled the aisles with a chorus of tiny peeps. There is something about a baby — whether chick or child — that is irresistible. In the absence of grandchildren, we suddenly desired chicks. Taken in by the feathered babies, we chose five to take home.
